New shoes
by anyother
Summary: A scene from 1950. Cutler's meets a ghost and gets a pair of brand new shoes.


_Hey, I put some new shoes on,  
>And suddenly everything is right,<br>I said, hey, I put some new shoes on and everybody's smiling_

_(New Shoes, Paolo Nutini)_

We said goodbye to Rachel's parents and walked the short distance to the bus stop. 'Let's not take the bus. It's a warm night. We can walk home.' Rachel suggested and took my arm.

'Alright.' I said.

'You were very quiet tonight, Nick.' She said.

'Was I?'

'I think it's your new job.'

We crossed the road and took a left turn towards the park. 'What about my new job? Anyway, strictly speaking it's not a new job. I've just been promoted.'

'It's the hours you make.' She said. 'I just want you to be happy. It's just a job, after all.'

'I am happy.' I said, not very convincingly.

'Are you? You're so different. Are you scared of becoming a dad?' I opened my mouth but couldn't find the right words.

'Look, it's our bench – remember? Let's sit down for a bit. Enjoy the view.' Yes, of course I remembered. It was the exact spot where I'd proposed to her. But we were not alone. There was a teenage girl sitting on the bench. She was wearing a flimsy summer dress and her feet were bare.

'Come on.' Rachel said, to my surprise, and sat down.

'But –' I said, and realised Rachel didn't see the girl, who had moved and was now leaning against a tree. Strange.

'Look, this is new.' Rachel said, and touched a brass plaque that was screwed to the bench. Rachel read aloud the inscription: 'In loving memory of Sarah Preston, 1935-1950. It's that girl that was murdered. It was in the papers, a couple of months ago.'

I looked from her to the girl. She held a finger in front of her mouth. Don't say a thing. 'Right.' I said. 'Such a sad story.'

Rachel briefly touched her stomach. She looked genuinely sad. The girl stuck out her tongue. 'This must be where she went missing.' The girl nodded and still Rachel didn't notice her.

Slowly the girl tilted her head. It was gruesome. Half her throat had been ripped out. I recognised the handiwork. It was one of them. Of us. 'Let's go.' I said, nervous under the scrutiny of the dead girl. Rachel shivered, and I helped her get up. I wrapped my arm around her and we left, leaving the girl behind. I didn't look back.

* * *

><p>'I saw a dead girl yesterday. The one that was missing and found murdered?' I looked at Yorke, who was busy examining a pair of shoes.<p>

'Hm? A teenager? Whatever turns you on, Cutler.' He said, distracted.

'No, it's not that. It's just that, well, Rachel couldn't see her. I just wondered –'

'No, these won't do. The colour's all wrong. I'm not a clown. Get me another pair, and make sure the size is right.' Yorke said to the shop assistant. The man left in a hurry. 'You were saying? Oh yes, a dead girl, and Rachel – I presume that's your wife – couldn't see her? That's an easy one. You've seen a ghost, Cutler. Was she barefoot?'

I looked at him, puzzled. How did he know? 'As a matter of fact she was.'

'Ah. Silly girl. Thought she could outrun me by kicking off her shoes. She was wrong of course. So you met her? Did she say hello? Why is she still around?' The shop assistant returned and showed Yorke two new pairs of shoes.

'The left ones. No, keep the other pair as well. What's your size, Cutler? I think your feet are smaller. Get these in his size – he could do with a new pair. Just look at him!'

'Are you sure?' I asked, worried I'd have to buy expensive shoes I couldn't afford. We'd had a lot of expenses lately.

'Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry, we'll get you a matching tie as well. So how was little Sarah? Bit of a handful, if I remember correctly.'

'She was dead. She didn't actually say anything.'

He raised his foot and I started tying his shoelaces. 'Tighter. I gather that was your first ghost. You better get used to them. Some of them can be annoyingly clingy. Just won't let go.'

'Why?' I asked, and tied his other shoe.

'Because of their unfinished business. Sad, if you come to think of it. Most of them haven't got a clue what they're supposed to do before they can pass over.' I told him about the plaque. 'It must run in the family, then. The parents can't let go either. I hope she didn't bother you?'

'Why would she?' I wanted to know.

'Ah.' Was all he said in reply, and then the shop assistant returned with my new shoes.

As it turned out we didn't pay for the shoes. Something the shop assistant said must have annoyed Yorke, 'Close the bloody door and pull down those blinds.' He ordered, and pushed the shop assistant into the storage room at the back of the shop. I turned the door sign to 'closed' and joined him.

There were stacks of shoeboxes against every wall of the storage room. 'Now that's what I call insulation.' Yorke said, his arm so tight around the man's neck that he had difficulty breathing. 'Take off your jacket, Cutler.' He said, always practical. I did, fairly sure of what was about to happen. 'Hold him.' I obeyed.

'Good. Now look here, Mr Shoe Shine, you've really upset my friend Mr Cutler here. Getting him all worked up, just because you think it's normal to charge so much for your pathetic shoes. I think an apology is in order.' Yorke said, and winked. I didn't know what to think. He was a monster, but he was also my friend. He'd just said so.

The man looked terrified. 'Take the shoes. And the money in the till. Please.' He begged.

'I knew you would say that.' Yorke said disapprovingly. 'It's not even your shop, is it? You're not exactly a loyal employee, are you? I said: apologise.'

The man struggled in my arms. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm sorry what?' Yorke said, moving closer.

'Sorry, sir. Sirs. Please.'

'Do you hear that, Cutler? This miserable sod is begging. Begging for what, I ask you?' He hissed. His eyes turned black and he showed his fangs. The man pissed his pants. I stepped back and watched Yorke attack him.

'Your turn.' He offered once he'd quenched his thirst. 'Come on, don't be squeamish. You want this, Cutler.' The man was on the floor now. Half the shoeboxes were spattered with his blood. The air was heavy with the smell. I knelt down. He was hardly alive anymore. 'Finish. It.' Yorke commanded.

Hypnotised by the blood that gushed from his wounds I lowered my head and closed my mouth around the bite wound, sucking in the warm salty sticky blood. It tasted like nothing I'd ever tasted before. Very different from the blood in the decanters. Richer, full of energy. 'Do it, Cutler. Do it now. Don't be selfish.' Yorke insisted.

I took a last swig, swallowed, took a deep breath and bit him. It was surprisingly easy. The man stopped breathing and became very still, and I continued drinking, trying not to think of what I'd just done.

'Is that me? Who are you? What have you done?' I heard. I turned my head and saw the shop assistant, standing next to Yorke.

'We've saved you from the misery of your life.' Yorke said. I looked at the mutilated body on the floor.

'Oh.' The man said.

'Right. Cutler, pay attention please.' Yorke said. I nodded.

Suddenly there was light. Bright light that hurt my eyes. A door appeared that hadn't been there before. 'See? Off you go, Richard Greene.' Yorke read the man's nametag on his jacket. Richard looked at the door. 'Go.' Yorke said, and he did. As soon as he'd closed the door behind him it disappeared.

'Now that –' Yorke said, '- was a ghost. Looks like he was ready to go, don't you think?' I looked at the wall, and at the blood on my hands.

'Why do we have to do this?' I asked.

Yorke grinned. 'We don't have to do it. We do it because we can. Well, you did. Welcome to the club, Nick.'

That was the first time he called me by my first name. After that it was Cutler again, even when he allowed me to call him by his first name, Hal. I was one of them now. A fact that both abhorred and pleased me.


End file.
